Monday, 13 December 2010

YOU MAY NOW HUMILIATE YOURSELF

I spent the weekend at a wedding. I love weddings, and it’s not even about the coming together of two people in wedded bliss that I like. [I’m not sure what that says about me?] Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about people declaring their love for one another in a romantic and unified fashion, but that’s usually the part that’s the most predictable; we get it, you love one another and promise to do so in sickness and health, bla bla bla, no one is going to jump up Graduate style and object to your union. Let’s just get to the part where your guests totally and utterly embarrass themselves. Now that’s when it gets interesting.

Plus, this weekend’s ceremony was a traditional Catholic ceremony. Those that know me, know how hard it is for me to sit still when I’m confined in a church…for an entire hour no less. I regress in such a profound way, that my eight year old (former) Catholic school girl self comes barreling out and suddenly I’m this squirming, whispering, giggling idiot that can’t stop whispering to my partner that if they don’t end this thing I’m going to running screaming from the building. In fact, there was a five year old in the pew in front of us that was behaving far more maturely that I was. Granted, he had crayons and some paper, which is cheating in my book. If I had crayons I could behave too.

Anyway, it is the reception thereafter that always sparks my writer mind into overdrive – although the ass grabbing couple in front of me in the church was certainly getting us off to a good start. I of course kept asking my partner if the ass grab was acceptable in the eyes of God? I have no clue about these things. Anyway, I digress....Once people get to the reception something seems to take over; I’m not sure if it’s the fact that no one has been fed for hours and they quickly start guzzling liquor like its water and they’ve just crawled out of the Sahara. But people start to get sloppy very quickly. Which of course is where I become very amused as I’m usually the only sober person there. Although that said, my behavior does not always reflect this, as I am a brilliant contagious drunk.

For some reason weddings just seem to lower people’s inhibitions. Suddenly they feel like they can do or say anything and it’s somehow fair game. “I just puked in the centerpiece after streaking thru the lobby. But hey it’s a wedding!” Then again, maybe it’s just the weddings I’ve attended. I fear to say that often times it is the table I am seated at that turns into the miscreants that run amuck. I’m not proud of this fact, of course. This weekend, my partner and I managed to set two napkins on fire at our table. The funny thing was, the first one that went up in flames, no one noticed for several minutes as it burned in the center of the table. I suppose they thought it was some sort of art deco table setting. I of course starting screaming and blowing on it, like that was going to do anything. Finally another guest poured a pitcher of water on it, which then drenched the table and turned the patch in front of us into a soupy ashen mess. Added to this detritus were the 3 zillion cherry stones and nut shells in a lovely pile in front of my partner – these were the decorations on the table in which he decided as they were ‘food’ they were fair game.

Then of course there are the speeches to sit through – which is perhaps how the second napkin went up in flames. Sometimes entertainment needs to be taken into one’s own hands. If done right, a best man’s speech can be sheer sublime hilarity. If done wrong, pulling one’s teeth out with tweezers is a more enjoyable experience. My most favorite part of a wedding is the dancing. And admittedly, I turn into a psychotic who forgot to take her meds when I hit the dance floor. I am of the no rules, shake it however the hell you want it, dancing persuasion. If you’re in my way, lookout cause some part of me is coming your way. I lose all sense of propriety and don’t care how I look in terms of choreography. If I love the song, I’m going for it. This of course makes me partner crazy, as he never knows how to dance ‘with’ me. He claims it is virtually impossible to keep up or even remain in my circumference. My response to him, 'babe, there are tables worth of centerpieces you can go gorge on, eat up my nut swilling lover, baby’s got to shake her moneymaker!'

Oh, and by the way, as we were leaving the reception, and we passed by our empty table that was now a total disaster zone, (once the cheese plate came out it was all downhill), there was a THIRD napkin on fire. Just sitting there at the end of the table. We were then convinced our table was cursed, or possessed. Whatever it was, we threw another pitcher of water over it and got the hell out of there.